The Complete #LoveLondon Collection

‘Sounds romantic, although I’m not quite sure I follow about the earrings. So where is he?’

‘It would have been romantic, but he paid someone else to do it all.’

‘Ah. Not so romantic after all.’ He drifted nearer, rubbing her arms to keep her warm. ‘So, what happened?’

‘We talked, he told me he’d changed, wanted me to go back and live with him. He’s stinking rich.’

‘Which would have solved some of your problems,’ he concluded, looking concerned.

‘My financial ones, yes. But it wouldn’t have solved the issue of being lonely. You ever been in a relationship where you feel completely alone?’ she spoke carefully, trying hard not to slur her words.

‘No. Sounds sad.’

‘It is. It was.’ She nodded solemnly, then nodded again to underline the point. Followed by a scowl, ‘But he hasn’t changed really and I was the back-up plan. I deserve better than that.’

‘You do.’

‘He can offer me the financial security my parents couldn’t when I was growing up,’ she’d figured that one out over dinner, ‘but when Mum died, he couldn’t deal with it.’

He glanced over her shoulder at Big Ben, wrapping his arms around her to keep her warm. ‘You’re freezing. It’s coming up to midnight.’ As if his words were magic, the clock tower’s bells started tolling. ‘You said no to him.’ Dong.

Pulling back, rocking on her heels, she looked at him, puzzled. ‘How do you know that?’

Dong. He shook his head, mumbling something under his breath. ‘Because weird girl, you’re here and he’s not, and you texted me.’

‘Oh, that makes sense.’ Dong. ’Now I’m only lonely sometimes, because I’m busy and I have friends and family that make me feel loved. One of those friends is you.’ Dong. ‘You get me,’ she hiccupped, ‘I think.’

‘I’d like to think so,’ he said softly, taking his coat off and wrapping it around her shoulders, producing an umbrella from somewhere to shield her from the soft patter of rain that had just started. Dong. ‘And I would also like to think,’ his open, honest face had never looked so appealing, white teeth flashing as he grinned, ‘that one day, when you’re ready, we could be more than friends.’

Big Ben was still ringing out the countdown to midnight in the background but she blocked it out now. ‘You like me like that?’

‘I just drove across London on New Year’s Eve, abandoning my friends and family to see you, and pulled up outside The Ritz in a beaten up Fiat. You should have seen the way the doormen looked at me. So what do you think? Yes, I like you. Have done since day one, when Simon introduced us.’

She shook her head, ‘I don’t even remember that meeting.’

‘I know. You didn’t see me. But maybe you will, one day.’

‘And if that happened, what would I need to do, to show you I was ready?’ she breathed.

‘I don’t know,’ he shivered, ‘kiss me?’

‘Right,’ she answered thoughtfully, as Big Ben finally struck twelve and hundreds, if not thousands, of people lining the Thames yelled out Happy New Year and started singing Auld Lang Syne. Above her head, Zack looked out across the rooftops at the London Eye as enormous white sparkles started rotating on it. ‘Zack?’ she stared up at him.

‘Yes?’ he switched his attention back to her.

Rising up on tiptoes she threw her arms around his neck, plastering her body along his, breasts pushed against his chest. ‘Happy New Year,’ she whispered.

As the sound of fireworks filled the air with whizzes and bangs and fizzes, she kissed him, mouth hot against his, eyes closed. After a brief hesitation he kissed her back, one arm tightening around her, the other still holding the umbrella. And it was amazing. And she saw. There was chemistry there, there was heat. Sometimes it took time to grow. She saw him, in the way she knew he saw her.

She saw how thoughtful and respectful and lovely he was to her, and how important that was. Much more important than whether he could put her up in a luxury pad by the Thames and shower her with gifts or not.

‘Woah!’ he pulled back, eyes slightly glazed, hair damp from the drizzle that had crept under the umbrella. ‘What was that?’ He seemed oblivious to the sparkling multi- coloured fireworks filling the London skyline, a dazzling array of greens and purples and oranges lighting up the darkness.

‘A New Year kiss.’ She said impatiently, rolling her eyes. She thought it was her who was tipsy, not him.

‘What did it mean though?’ He looked hopeful and scared at the same time. Some of his question was obscured by the deafening pops of fireworks but she understood him anyway.

‘It means I’m ready,’ she said, ‘not ready for anything heavy, or quick. But ready to try.’

He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, ‘Are you sure? There’s no rush.’

She stared up into his face, studied his freckles, the way his blond hair curled slightly on his collar, the face that got more attractive every time she looked at it. ‘I am sure,’ she nodded.

It might be the cocktails talking or it might be the closure with Christian, so she could stop wondering if she’d done the right thing. It might even be what was in the air with the dawning of 2015, a hint of promise, a dash of new beginnings, a pinch of hope.

Or it could just be that of all the people she’d had in her life over the last few months, he made her laugh the most. And that’s what made her certain she was making the right decision.

‘Come on,’ she wriggled around so she could snuggle into his side, ‘let’s watch the fireworks. It would be a shame to waste them. The colour-bursts are stunning.’

‘You’re stunning,’ he whispered in her ear.

She shivered, but not from the cold, slid him a sideways look and smiled slowly. ‘Do you know what Zack?’

‘What?’ He hugged her closer, his body heat transferring to her.

‘I know it might sound weird, seeing as I kind of came here on a date with my ex, but I’m really glad that I celebrated New Year and the start of 2015 at The Ritz.’

They both ahhhed as a starburst of white showered down towards them, illuminating their grinning faces.

‘So am I, weird girl,’ he agreed, squeezing her tight, ‘so am I.’

Valentine’s on Primrose Hill (#ulink_26fd5a4d-ecf7-5059-9f35-7cbebf9c0c4c)

Now

Leo Miller still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up standing alone on Primrose Hill on the most romantic day of the year, both hoping and dreading his Valentine would show up. The girl he’d thought would be a friend but had turned out to be so much more. The girl he owed the truth to, instead of the version she thought she knew.

If she came.

He stood at the top of the panoramic park, the London skyline sandwiched between a bright blue sky and leafy trees. Rolling green grass flowed below him, intersected by numerous paths lined with Victorian-looking lamps. He could make out all the main landmarks in the distance, no longer needing the long, narrow metal plaque on the circular brow of the hill to read the city. He’d brought too many classes here over the last five years to show them the glorious sights of their capital. He knew this skyline off by heart.

Left to right was the spire of St Mark’s Church, the high-rise, closely huddled towers of Canary Wharf, the dark curved outline of The Gherkin and lower, crouching St Paul’s Cathedral, the soaring sharp-edged Shard. Further over was the pinnacle of the BT Tower (plumper at the top), the rounded upper half of the London Eye wheel then over to Westminster and the Houses of Parliament, Crystal Palace Tower and smaller, tucked away on the edge, Westminster Cathedral.

Shoving his freezing hands into his coat pockets, he shivered in the crisp February sunshine. It was a beautiful Saturday, though cold, and gusts of wind shook the last of the leaves that had somehow survived autumn and winter from the trees. Hard to believe it would be spring soon. Happy, noisy families with pushchairs and plump, eager toddlers on reins panted their way up the concrete paths, and dog walkers rambled across the amazingly healthy green grass, some of them throwing tennis balls for their canine friends. A couple wandered past hand in hand, bundled up in scarves and woolly hats but not looking like they felt the frigid temperature at all, too wrapped up in each other. Cars zipped past, making their way in and out of Camden Town. At the bottom of the hill was Primrose Hill Bridge, spanning Regent’s Canal. If she didn’t come he’d walk down there, take a tube to Oxford Street and distract himself by trekking around the shops.

He checked his watch. Five to twelve. He’d asked to meet at noon, but had wanted to get here early.

As bitter as the weather was, he’d prepared a mini-hamper filled with champagne and gourmet foods, had thought they could sit on one of the benches and share a feast and the view, the backdrop they’d met against. It was probably a crazy idea given the near sub-zero temperatures but he’d thought it would be romantic and had limited the madness by also bringing a rucksack stuffed with two blankets, some hand warmers, and two bobble hats as well as panda ear-muffs for comedy value. He’d once joked he’d need to wear them to block out her constant chatter, a tongue-in-cheek comment given how hard it could be to get her to open up. Still, with time and patience, he’d got to know her over the past four weeks.